


Something I Need

by Hey_Nonny



Category: Psych
Genre: Contemplation of Suicide, Depression, Episode Tag: s01e10, Gen, M/M, Self Sacrifice, from the earth to starbucks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 05:56:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5528597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hey_Nonny/pseuds/Hey_Nonny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlton struggles with depression and his feelings for Shawn. Loosely based on the OneRepublic song of the same name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something I Need

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zaxal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zaxal/gifts).



> Credit to Steve Franks and Tami Sagher as I lifted some of the dialogue directly from 1.10.

He sat up in bed abruptly, panting. The sheets stuck to his sweat-covered body as his pulse gradually slowed. It had been another nightmare- he had one nearly every night, now- and he knew he wouldn’t be falling back to sleep anytime soon.

As usual, there had been a crisis (this time, it was a hostage situation) and he leapt into action as a knight in shining armor. Heroically saving the day and dying in the process. Carlton wasn’t even sure he could classify it as a nightmare because though it terrified him, it was what he wished for. He had imagined it time and time again- going out in a hailstorm of bullets, his body riddled with lead, bleeding out on the ground. Dying in Spencer’s arms would be a nice touch. He knew this overdramatic fantasy meant he was technically suicidal, but he brushed that thought aside. Easier not to think about it that way. Easier to only view himself as a martyr.

He glanced at the clock. The red numerals blazed out 2:07 from his nightstand. He sighed, swinging his legs over the edge up his bed. He sat there for a moment, willing himself to get up. The oppressive loneliness weighed on him to the point that it was hard to move. Eventually he stood, shuffling out of his bedroom listlessly. Carlton picked up his keys. He wasn’t sure where he was going but he knew he needed out of the house.

The fresh air was a shock to his system, for it was cooler than he had expected though still reasonably balmy. It was Santa Barbara, after all. He drove aimlessly, letting the background noise of the radio and the darkness illuminated by ambient light sooth him. He found himself turning down the street Shawn lived on and told himself this was random coincidence and he hadn’t been intending to come here all along. He drove by and circled around the block twice before pulling over to the curb and parking. If he was braver, he might go knock on the door and see if Spencer was still awake. But he was not that brave, and how would he explain being on his doorstep at 2:30 in the morning?

The head detective sat, gazing at Spencer’s abode (an ice cream shop that had been converted into an apartment), chiding himself for his behavior. _This is creepy, you know that, right?_ He harrumphed and looked down at the steering wheel instead, as if not actually looking at the apartment while he sat on Shawn’s street somehow made it less weird. There was something about knowing he was close to the snarky fake psychic that was comforting. Spencer, obnoxious though he was, was brilliant. But more than that, he was bright. A vibrant light in Carlton’s largely dull gray life. He had a feeling his therapist would say this one-sided dependency (not dependency, he told himself, just attachment) was unhealthy. Which is exactly why he hadn’t told his therapist about Shawn.

Speaking of therapy, he should really schedule another appointment. He hated having to go, but after his last mandatory psych evaluation for the force, Vick had suggested he start. It wasn’t technically an order, but he knew the look in her eye too well to try to argue. He had tried medication, but the only ones that worked also left him tired and with a slow reaction time: something he couldn’t afford as a cop. So therapy it was, much as it grated on him to accept the help. She was nice enough, but Carlton Lassiter simply did not talk about his feelings.

In some ways he felt that depression had always been lingering in the back of his mind. It wasn’t as if he’d had a particularly happy childhood. But it was when things went south with Victoria that it had come on full force. That was almost two years ago now. Two years of struggling against the self-loathing that had leached into his very bones, doubting everything he thought he had known about himself, and wondering if his life had any meaning at all. Doing police work, catching the bad guys and keeping civilians safe- that was what he clung to as his purpose. Or it had been, until Spencer came along and outdid him at every turn. Ironic how the same man who gave him comfort also made him feel so profoundly inadequate.

It wasn’t until Spencer wandered into his life and so cavalierly made him feel utterly useless that the suicidal thoughts started. He wasn’t needed anymore, Spencer could easily do his job. His main function at this point was handcuffing the perp and doing the paperwork. Hell, McNab could do that much. But if he died heroically, in the line of duty... he would be important and remembered. His life would finally have value.

And yet. Spencer. Carlton still wasn’t sure if he even liked the man, but he was intriguing. He kept his life interesting, at the very least, even if he spent most of his time being frustrated by the younger man’s antics. Spencer made fun of him constantly and knew just how to push his buttons, but he joked with Guster too, and even O’Hara. Maybe it was a kind of compliment. He couldn’t figure him out, but he knew there was something more lurking beneath the lively hazel eyes. There was just something about Shawn. Something Carlton knew he needed.

He glanced at the time displayed on his dashboard: 3:41. He had been here over an hour, but he had to admit he felt better. Calmer. _I’ll go home in a few minutes,_ he thought.

 

He jerked awake to see pink streaks in the sky. It was almost 6:30 and he had spent the last three hours asleep in his car. Outside of Shawn’s apartment. He took comfort in the fact that Shawn was not a morning person and so would not be awake to see that he was parked there.

“Shit,” he muttered, turning on the car. He should already be getting ready for work. It was not going to be a good day.

 

He was right. It wasn’t a good day. Not only was he even more exhausted than usual, but he had a crick in his neck from sleeping in his car. He spilled coffee on his suit and Shawn pranced into the station just in time to make fun of him for his clumsiness. A case he was sure was murder was being dismissed as natural causes and there was nothing he could do about it. He was chastised by the chief for trying to pursue said case. O’Hara was even peppier than usual, apparently having gone on a successful date the night before, which just added insult to injury for Carlton.

At the end of his very long day, he thought he would just go home and try to unwind. And then he remembered what day it was, and he adjusted his plans to go to the bar instead, because he needed something stronger than tea for this shit.

 

 

Carlton was already past drunk when he heard a familiar voice. “Lassie?” said Shawn, coming over.

“Spencer!” he exclaimed, unable to keep a smile off his face. “Why am I surprised?” He quickly ordered drinks for Shawn and himself. This was it; he was already wasted, so he had plenty of liquid courage to tell Spencer how he felt.

“There is something I’ve got to get off my chest,” he exclaimed. He vaguely registered Shawn making a smart comment but didn’t bother to respond. “You….” he trailed off momentarily, trying to focus his thoughts. Shawn looked intrigued. “… _astound_ me,” he finally got out. Confusion played across Spencer’s face. Huh, that was a new one. Spencer usually looked like he knew _everything_. Carlton rambled on. “It’s beyond astounding! It’s some of the most impressive reasoning I’ve ever seen.”

“Is there a punchline coming?” Spencer seemed to shrugging off the compliment. The drunk detective barely heard him.

“I don’t know how you do it,” he continued. “I mean, it’s not psychic…ness. We both know that’s a load of bullshit. You sir, are unstoppable. Guaranteed arrest.” He drained the rest of his scotch. Funny, he didn’t remember the bartender bringing this to him. And Shawn was still without a drink.

Spencer still seemed confused. This conversation was not going the way Carlton had planned; though he wasn’t entirely sure what he had planned anymore, because his brain was a bit foggy.

“Can I tell you a secret?” he slurred. _This is a bad idea! Stop talking!_ some still sane, sober part of his brain was telling him. He carried on anyway.

He circled the table, steadier on his feet than he had anticipated, and leaned in towards the younger man. “You know how everyone thinks my wife and I have been separated for nine months?”

“Yes?” Shawn replied, still looking unsure of himself. Carlton could really get used to this uncertain, hesitant version of Shawn. He was much cuter when he didn’t know what was going on.

“Two years!” he said, poking Shawn in the chest. “Two years tonight. And I’m the one who keeps trying to fix the thing.” He reached back for his drink and would have fallen over if Shawn hadn’t grabbed his arm. Carlton registered the touch with vague pleasure. “I mean, counseling, acupuncture, therapy- you name it, I tried it. Hell, I’m still in therapy…”

Shawn raised an eyebrow. _Shit._ He was already oversharing, but that was the last thing he wanted Spencer to know.

“Therapy?” Shawn asked tentatively. Lassiter made a noncommittal noise, bracing himself for the jokes that were about to come at his expense.

“Lassie, are you okay?” Shawn asked. Strange. He looked genuinely concerned.

Carlton waved his hand lazily, avoiding the question. There was a moment of awkward silence.

“Well, I’m gonna let you go,” said Spencer, edging away.

 _Say goodbye, Carlton. Stop blabbering all your secrets like an idiot. Just. Say. Goodbye._ He opened his mouth. “You know, I used to be a good cop.” The small portion of his brain that represented his sanity was spewing profanities. It had worked, though- Spencer slowly came back to face Lassiter.

“Seriously. Stunning arrest record. I was one of the best in the department.” He almost smiled. “I caught the Back Bay killer.”

“Yes you did! I remember it well.” Shawn seemed eager to agree with him; whether to reassure him or to get him to stop talking, Carlton wasn’t sure.

“Although I had a tip,” he said, remembering.

“The blue sedan,” Shawn slipped in.

“Yeah,” Carlton nodded. Then a moment of clarity shot through his muddled mind. “That was you?” He meant it to sound angry, but instead it came out sad, almost pathetic.

Spencer hemmed and hawed, which of course meant that it was. _FUCK._ He threw up his hands. Shawn was talking, trying to reassure him, but he wasn’t even listening. _Motherfucker. My biggest case, my one pride and joy, and it was all due to Spencer as usual._ Hell, he was always calling in tips. How many of the cases that had been his only purpose in life were actually solved by Spencer?

Shawn was still talking about numbers or something, but Lassiter interrupted. “Spencer. Stop. I am done.” His words were slurring worse now, and on some level he knew he was really drunk and wasn’t making a lot of sense, but that hadn’t stopped him so far. This truly might be his all-time low. Not even being head detective meant anything anymore.

“Here!” he said, pulling his handcuffs off of his belt. “I want you to have these. I don’t need them anymore.” He was tempted to hand him his badge, too. At this point Carlton wanted to get rid of all reminders of his perpetual failure. Spencer wasn’t reaching for the handcuffs, so he sat them on the table. “I am over.”

“Just stop this, okay? This is nonsense. You’re not over. You’re… a striking man with strong features and eyes that women want to do cannonballs into.” _Am I just drunk, or is Spencer hitting on me?_ “You have great posture and penmanship the likes of which I’ve never seen.”

Carlton appreciated the effort, but he knew better. Spencer was a better detective than him and that was that. “I have officially hit rock bottom. Okay?”

Shawn was shaking his head, but Carlton continued, telling him about his unsolvable case. Things were getting more and more hazy and he was having trouble finding the words he wanted.

Shawn hesitated before forcing out a “Carlton” which made the head detective raise his eyebrows as he tried to focus on Spencer’s face- it was hard, as everything was getting fuzzy. Shawn leaned in, his face barely a foot from his own (Lassiter assumed he was making eye contact but it was getting difficult to tell where anyone was looking) and spoke emphatically. “I believe in you. I really do! You just gotta trust your instincts.” He was interrupted by a shriek from a woman running up to their table. Carlton tried to listen to what she was saying, but everything was going sideways and he suddenly wasn’t sure which way was up.

 

 

When he regained consciousness, Carlton was laying in his bed, still fully dressed, with a pounding headache.

 _Awesome, now you’re hungover_ and _sad._ Moving slowly, he sat up and blinked to clear his blurred vision and began to ponder how he got here. It was possible he had gotten a taxi home and just didn’t remember, but he doubted he would have made it all the way to the bedroom if he had- the couch was much closer to the front door. His memories of the night before were murky at best, so he didn’t know who would have brought him home.

He eased himself out of bed and stumbled towards the bathroom. Staring at his reflection, he cringed. The dark bags under his eyes were big enough to hold his wallet and keys, his eyes were bloodshot, and he was horribly unkempt. It was going to be a rough day. Again.

After popping some painkillers and cleaning up his face as best he could, Carlton made his way to the kitchen. He was going to need more than a few cups of coffee this morning.

“Lassie! You’re up!” came a familiar voice from his couch. Carlton jumped a mile high and his hand went immediately to where his gun was supposed to be before he realized who it was.

“ _Jesus_ Spencer! What the hell are you doing in my apartment?”

Shawn was laughing too hard at how bad he had scared him to answer right away. While he was composing himself, Carlton began to make a pot of coffee. “Do you really not remember?” Shawn asked, trailing after him.

“Remember what?” Carlton snapped. He had a feeling he had made some decisions he was going to regret.

“Last night… At Tom Blair’s…”

He knew he had gone there, but everything that had transpired after his third scotch remained a mystery. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Spencer seemed unsure of what to tell him. “You got drunk, so I brought you home,” was all he said. Carlton only grunted in response.

“Can you drop me at the bar on your way to work?” Spencer asked, helping himself to a banana.

“Isn’t it a little early to be drinking?” Carlton grumbled.

“Oh, no, I just need to pick up my bike. It’s still parked there,” Shawn said between bites.

Something clicked into place in Lassiter’s brain. He turned to face Spencer, furious. “ _You drove my car?!”_

Spencer didn’t seem phased. “You weren’t very coordinated at the time, and I was afraid you would fall off my bike,” he explained, shrugging.

“That’s police property!” he sputtered.

“What was I supposed to do? Get a taxi and leave both of our vehicles there?”

Carlton couldn’t argue with that, so he aggressively poured cream and sugar into his coffee. Eyeing the copious amounts of sweetness going into the beverage, Shawn smirked. “You know, that’s really dangerous, Carly. A heart attack waiting to happen. You’re still a young man!”

“Shut up,” he grumbled, but there was no real heat behind it. He paused before grudgingly offering Spencer a cup of coffee.

“No thanks, Lassiepants. I start my days off with a pineapple smoothie from Jamba Juice,” said Shawn, who had moved on to examining the bookshelves.

It took until halfway through his third cup of coffee for Carlton to feel like he might be ready to leave his house. By the time he finished getting ready, Spencer seemed to have explored every inch of his apartment. Lassiter tried not to feel violated; he didn’t keep that many deeply personal belongings around anyway, but it was strange to have someone in his home. He rarely had visitors.

Spencer continued to chatter the entire drive to the bar and Carlton found he almost didn’t mind. He had dropped Shawn off and was almost to the station before realizing he had never thanked him for bringing him home the night before. Shaking the guilt off, he was determined to put the last few days behind him, permanently.

 

 

 

It almost worked, too. He lasted almost a week before, standing in the rear of a press conference, he let Shawn gently take his wrists for his “vision.” He hadn’t, and still did not, believe that Shawn was psychic, so he had no reason to let Spencer try to “read his thoughts.” His agreement had slipped out without giving it a second thought. He blamed his lingering feelings of guilt for never properly thanking Spencer; he might as well humor him.

Shawn stepped close to him, telling him to relax. Carlton tried, but he could feel his heartbeat quickening almost imperceptibly. Well then. That was new.

Spencer took his wrists into his hands and held them. He was almost tender. It only lasted a moment though, and then he was hitting Carlton in the face with his own hands.

“You want to check the house. Hugo’s house!” Spencer announced.

“I am in the process of getting a warrant,” he said, his face still squished between his hands.

Shawn released his hands. “Check the garden.”

“It’s buried there?” he hazarded.

“No, more like… growing,” Shawn said. “Oh! Oh, I’m getting something. I’m getting… Prince!” He paused. “No. The artist formerly known as Prince.” Another pause. Carlton was thoroughly confused now. “Wrong again Shawn! It’s Prince, after he was known as the artist formerly known as Prince.”

Carlton was trying hard to follow. “It’s Purple!”

“Yes! Yes, that’s it! You’re amazing.” Spencer was ecstatic. “The caverns of knowledge in that thing!” he said, gesturing in amazement to Carlton’s head.

Carlton shook his head. “We ran the toxicology report. There’s no trace of poison.” He could feel the despair settling on him. He had come so far, but the case was still unsolvable. He was still a horrible detective.

“Of course! Thank you, detective,” said Shawn, unphased by this development. “So what you’re saying is, he would have had to administer it very very slowly.”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying,” Carlton said, though he knew he had said no such thing. “How do you poison someone slowly?” There was a pause while Spencer appeared to be not paying attention. Carlton’s spark of hope was dying out.

“Coffee!” Shawn said suddenly.

“No thanks, I’m good,” Carlton said dismissively.

“Tea!” Gus said.

“Well, if you’re going,” he assented.

“It had to be the tea!” Guster carried on, ignoring him. “The leaves wouldn’t stand out in the tea!”

“Hugo put the poison in his tea!” Carlton said, making the final leap to the answer.

“Every day for six months,” Spencer put in.

“Digitalis would cause arrhythmia in a healthy heart!” Guster said triumphantly, and began to dance.

“Which would disappear as soon as someone died,” he concluded. That was it. The last piece of the puzzle had fallen into place.

Carlton was so excited to have finally solved the case he almost didn’t notice Spencer and O’Hara’s death glares to Guster as he proclaimed “I solved it!” Almost.

“Oh that’s right,” Gus amended. “You solved it.”

 _If that means what I think it means…_ He put the thought aside. There was a criminal to arrest- something he knew he could do.

“O’Hara, call the coroner, and tell him to check for even the slightest traces of digitalis. And get me a new pair of handcuffs.” As he strode off towards Hugo, Shawn gave him a slap on the back. Carlton almost smiled.

 

 

The accolades were coming from all directions at the station. He had solved the unsolvable- or had he?

Carlton wasn’t stupid. There had been something off about this entire case. He had followed the clues, but at times it felt more like the clues were following him. He was tempted to write it off as luck, but he didn’t believe in luck, and there was still the issue of Spencer’s “psychic vision” and he and O’Hara’s pointed looks at Gus. Something had been going on, and he could only assume Shawn was behind it.

It had taken the entire week to dredge up any memories of that night at the bar. It was still fuzzy, but he remembered talking to Shawn and spilling one too many secrets. He guessed Spencer felt bad for him and decided to help him get his mojo back. Which was sweet, really, but he didn’t feel much better. Not that he wasn’t glad to have cracked the case, but getting unseen help meant he still wasn’t a good detective, though it had been nice to feel like he was the one doing the solving again. Besides, his problems went deeper than that.

Even so, it was nice to think Spencer cared enough about him to try to help. But he still wanted answers. So when he saw Shawn leaning against the front desk, he grabbed his arm and dragged him along to the chief’s office without breaking his stride. “Spencer, a moment of your precious time.”

“Uh, are you sure we should be in here?” Spencer asked.

“That night in the bar,” Carlton said, ignoring him, “I mentioned my wife, didn’t I?”

Shawn hesitated before saying “yes” but looked almost relieved. That only confirmed Carlton’s suspicions.

“I also mentioned something else, I think,” he said. Spencer didn’t meet his eyes.

“Uh, yeah, maybe,” he answered.

“About my therapy.”

Shawn just nodded.

“I would appreciate if you didn’t mention that to anyone else,” Carlton said.

“Of course.”

He hesitated. “To tell you the truth, I think I got some help on this case.” He waited for Spencer to proudly take credit for his behind-the-scenes assistance, but Shawn was doing his best to look clueless.

“Well hey man, we all get help sometimes. It’s the truly great ones that know how to accept it,” he said, motioning to both of them. _Does Spencer really see me as an equal?_

“And one more thing,” Spencer said, looking hard into his eyes, “detective, you _astound_ me.”

The phrase sounded eerily familiar, but Carlton didn’t know why. “Is there a second half to that joke?”

“Nope,” Spencer shook his head.

 _Huh._ _A compliment from Spencer._

O’Hara came in just then to tell him the press was waiting, and he exited in a slight daze. That seemed to be his constant state around Spencer these days.

 

 

The sun dipping towards the horizon by the time Carlton left the station. All the paperwork was done and Hugo would be transferred tomorrow. For the first time in a while, he felt almost happy. He hoped it would last.

He was going down the front steps when he spotted Shawn sitting on the bottom stair.

“Spencer?”

“Lassie!” Shawn’s face lit up. Carlton was unused to anyone looking that happy to see him.

“Did you want something?” he asked tentatively.

Shawn was handing him a helmet. “Come take a ride with me.”

“I would rather marry a squirrel,” he said, looking at Shawn’s parked motorcycle with distaste. He actually liked motorcycles, but he wasn’t sure how he felt about being on the back of one Spencer was driving.

Spencer, however, did not appear to be taking no for an answer. “It’s not far from here, actually. And don’t worry, there’s no alcohol involved.”

“And we’re taking your motorcycle why?” he asked skeptically.

“Because last time I drove your car you got angry,” Shawn answered.

Carlton found himself climbing on the bike behind Shawn with only slight protests, and soon they were zooming down the streets of Santa Barbara. Shawn reached behind him and pulled Carlton’s arm around his waist.

“If you don’t hold on you’re gonna fall off!” he shouted over his shoulder. Carlton gingerly put his other arm around Shawn and held on. _How in the hell did I end up here?_

Spencer was right, though. It only took 20 minutes before they were parking in a gravelly overlook. He held on to Shawn for perhaps a moment longer than was strictly necessary, but Spencer didn’t say anything.

“This is one of my favorite places in Santa Barbara,” Shawn said. Carlton could see why. The spot looked out across the ocean. The sun was sinking into the sea, painting the sky with a medley of pinks and oranges, and a few wispy clouds stretched their long white fingers across the picturesque scene.

“It’s beautiful,” he breathed. _If this was a sappy romcom, I would add ‘just like you.’_ But unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately) this was reality.

They watched the sunset together for several minutes before Carlton broke the silence. “Is there a reason you brought me here?”

“You shared personal stuff with me, Lassie. So I wanted to share something personal with you. It felt fair.”

“And this is… what, exactly?” he asked.

“This is where I come to calm down. When I need to escape or get perspective, I come here and look at how big the ocean is. And it makes me feel small, not in an insignificant way, but like my problems are manageable. And it’s breathtaking, and it makes me feel like the world can’t be that bad if it contains something so beautiful.”

He was touched by Shawn’s honesty; it was a rare moment of openness for him.

“You and Gus hang out here a lot?”

Shawn shook his head. “Gus doesn’t know this exists. It’s always just kinda been mine.”

 _Oh. He wasn’t kidding when he said it was personal._ He wondered how often Shawn came up here.

“Shawn…” The fake psychic raised his eyebrow at the use of his first name. “Why did you bring me here, really? Why are you trying to help me?”

“Because, Lassie. You’re my friend.” _Ah, friend. There was a time when I would have loved to be called that, but now… it was a disappointment._

Carlton didn’t respond. Shawn looked at him. “Lassie, I- I care about you. I don’t know what exactly it is you’re going through but I’m right here.”

“I’m in therapy,” he said, as if he hadn’t already told him. “It’s helping me cope with depression.”

Shawn nodded. “I used to go to therapy. I still do, sometimes.” Carlton looked surprised. Shawn laughed. “Hey, an ocean view does a lot but it can’t cure everything.”

Evidently there was a lot more to Spencer than met the eye. He had always known there was something there, behind the jokes and unholy gyrations. But it was more than just some secret pain hidden away. Shawn had went behind his back to build him up, and had passed up the opportunity to take the credit for it. Despite the fact that Carlton had been largely hostile towards him, he really did care. He suspected Shawn could see through him at least as much as he could see through Shawn.

He was glad of his friendship. He offered Carlton a different perspective and injected his misery with something akin to happiness. Shawn make him feel alive again.

“Thank you,” he said finally. He knew Shawn would know what he meant.

“How thankful are you feeling?” Shawn asked. _Great, here it comes. He’s just wanted something from me all along._

“What do you want?” he said, already pulling back into himself. He had been naïve to think Shawn was helping him because he cared about him; no one cared about him.

“Will you go to dinner with me tomorrow?” Shawn asked. The last rays of the sun were shining on his eyelashes, illuminating his bright hazel eyes, and Carlton wasn’t sure if it was that or his question that took his breath away. His mouth opened and closed a few times before he could form words.

“Sure,” he said. _Real smooth, Carlton._ Shawn smiled.

“You know you can’t fix me, right?” he said. “You can’t just sweep into my life and cure me and make me happy again. It doesn’t work like that. I’m still going to be… like this.”

“I know,” said Shawn. “Dude, my mom’s a psychologist. I probably know more about it than Gus does, and that’s a lot. I like _you_ , Lassie.”

And for the first time, Carlton thought instead of dying in Shawn’s arms, he’d like to live with him, instead.


End file.
